


Weed It and Eat

by youwilllovemylaugh



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Eating Kink, F/M, Hand Feeding, Overeating, Smoking, Stuffing, Weight Gain, stoner au, stoner jake peralta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 16:16:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6202291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youwilllovemylaugh/pseuds/youwilllovemylaugh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is kinda inspired by 3x18, in which we GET CANON CONFIRMATION that jake was a stoner at some point in his past.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Weed It and Eat

**Author's Note:**

> this is kinda inspired by 3x18, in which we GET CANON CONFIRMATION that jake was a stoner at some point in his past.

Jake stayed at Amy’s place the night Gina wrecked his car. It was closer, but – and he would never admit this to her – it also smelled better and was more comfy, and also had better food.

It also had Amy, but he’d had enough of sincerity for one evening, and he couldn’t lose face now.

They got into their pajamas, brushed their teeth, turned off the light, and snuggled up next to each other in Amy’s bed, on the silky-soft sheets Jake had always thought felt like swimming. With the light of a streetlamp streaming in through the window, it kind of felt otherworldly.

“I’m sleepy,” Amy said against Jake’s chest. Her voice was a little slurred, but he knew it was only because she still wore her orthodontic retainers, and the plastic affected her speech.

He stroked her hair, smiling to himself about how cute she’d be in a few minutes, once sleep really got hold of her, and she tried to fight it to keep talking to him.

“I can’t remember the last time I really _felt_ tired,” Jake said.

“Might be the horrifying amount of sugar you consume,” Amy said.

“It’s possible.”

After a beat, Amy shifted, slid a hand beneath Jake’s shirt to rub his belly. There was quite a bit of it now; since they’d been dating, Jake had been eating more – on dates, casually at home, at Amy’s every insistence, while he was pinned to the very bed he was lying on now.

He sighed as she rubbed, feeling calm.

“Why do you think that is?” Amy asked. “Like, for real. You work a full day, at an active job. You should be exhausted by the time you get home.”

“Yeah, and I should also be in awesome John McClane shape, but instead, I’ve got this,” he said, and took a handful of his belly and shook it.

Amy giggled. “It’s nice, though.”

“I know you like it.”

“Do you think the sleeping thing is because you eat so much?” Amy rolled up on her elbow to look at him. “Maybe I should look into it, make sure it’s still safe for your sleeping patterns if you eat a lot, right before bed.”

Jake bit his lip. He knew exactly why he’d stopped feeling sleepy, could nearly pinpoint the last time he’d felt sleepy, now that he’d thought about it. He just wasn’t sure how well Amy would take it.

“I’ll look it up now,” Amy said, and she rolled off of him and grabbed her phone, lit up the room with its screen.

“No, don’t,” Jake said, leaning over to her. “I know why it is. Besides, if there’s one thing that’s definitely not good for you, it’s bright screens right before bed.”

Amy sighed, and Jake could practically hear her eyes roll. “Well, if you know why it is, do tell.”

He laid back and folded his hands over his belly. “Okay, but promise that you don’t laugh. Or tell Holt.”

Amy snorted. “This sure is something, if you think I’m going to tell _Holt_ about it.”

“Well, who knows, you two are all buddy-buddy these days.”

“I won’t have to tell him anything, if you never actually tell _me_ anything, Jakey.”

Jake sighed. “Okay, fine. It all started back when I was in college…”

 

Jake was twenty when he discovered weed. He’d stayed away from drugs and alcohol for nearly all of his high school career because those were his dad’s vices, and his dad’s excuses, and he hated his dad, because he’d left and been a jerk. As if that wasn’t reason enough, he wanted to be a cop, and the road to becoming one was riddled with drug tests he couldn’t afford to fail.

But a little anxiety about some final exams, about admission to the police academy’s next class, could snowball really fast, Jake learned, and when his hands started to shake a little, and he stopped being able to sleep at night, his roommate, an English major named Sam, had introduced him to weed.

They smoked together for the first time Jake ever got high, straight out of a bong he was astounded to find Sam had had hidden in their room all this time, but Jake coughed too much for it to be enjoyable. His virgin lungs hurt for days afterwards, and he couldn’t run as well as he’d been able to, which only made him worry more.

So the second time – which happened after several weeks of Sam’s constant badgering, insisting, promising that there were other methods that would get him just as high, really take the edge off – Sam brought Jake a batch of brownies.

“Don’t eat them all at once, like I know you will, or you’ll get sick,” Sam warned. After they went to dinner, they each ate what Jake thought was a miserably-sized piece, and then they waited.

And waited. Jake lazed about on his bed for what felt like hours, dawdling over his homework, watching Sam read for one of his classes, waiting, waiting, waiting.

Until it hit him, sometime around eleven that night, and then Jake felt the room get a little hazy.

And then his stomach started growling.

“Sam, Sam,” Jake whispered from his bed, even though Sam was fully awake, and no one was ever asleep at eleven on their floor, and it was completely ridiculous to whisper. He reached across the void between their beds and pawed the air until his roommate turned to acknowledge him.

“Hey there,” Sam said. “How ya feeling?”

“We need snacks,” Jake said. “I’m feeling like a trip to the bodega.”

The bodega around the corner was twenty-four-hours, and sold myriad things, from condoms, to jars of marshmallow fluff, to cold medicine, to party-sized bags of chips. And though Jake had been in it before, knew that it sold all these things, when he entered, it was like the bottom of his stomach fell out. So many options, so many flavors and ideas to choose from.

“God bless America,” Jake said in a hush as he placed four bags of chips on the counter, and dropped a twenty on the counter.

He and Sam returned to their dorm, Sam toting his own bag of chips and a pack of Oreos, and in a matter of an hour, they demolished everything. Jake had never been so hungry in his life, had never wanted food so badly before. But as time passed, and he sobered up a little, his eyelids started drooping, and his body began to fall into rest.

Sam fell asleep first; Jake fell into more of a stupor. He was stuffed – dinner and the brownie hadn’t been much, but the chips and the Oreos had sent him overboard. He’d eaten well as a kid, but college had brought leaner years on him. All this food had left him blissed out, lying there on his back in bed, still kind of high, just enough to tug up the hem of his shirt and marvel at his taut, round belly, stare in amazement at how much food he’d been able to pack away.

He fell asleep that night, satisfied and calm and so, so easily.

From there, it became a habit, until he got into the police academy. At first it was still brownies, or other edibles – Sam brought him honey, once, and they’d gotten into giggle fits over each other putting Pringles in their mouths to form duck bills. As time went on, Jake got better at smoking, and started buying his own supply.

Sam got a girlfriend at some point in their second semester, and wasn’t around as often, so Jake started smoking on his own. His dealer started inviting him places, to hang out with some guys at the park and play hackey sack, to hang out and try new strains, new pieces. He slept more.

And the more Jake smoked, the more he ate, too. Eventually, he wasn’t sure whether it was the weed or whatever crazy amount of food he’d eaten that put him to sleep. He started keeping track of what he ate – or what he remembered eating. One night, he polished off four orders of the chicken mac and cheese from the place that did fifty-cent wings on Tuesday nights; another Tuesday night, after he’d gotten a job on campus, he blew twenty bucks on Bud Lights and another fifty on wings. He dragged himself home that night, cross-faded and heavier than he could ever remember feeling.

Sam was out, so he fell onto his back in bed and took off everything but his underwear, and he rubbed his belly, which sloshed with the beer inside it, despite its tight stretch over the hundred wings he’d eaten. He was amazed by his own capacity to eat, the way the weed made him crave food like he’d never craved anything before in his life.

He gained fifty pounds that year. His thighs padded, and his arms, and his ass. He actually had more than just a stick body, now, could fill out a pair of jeans. His shirts, all extra-smalls before, barely covered his belly, which had grown the most. It jiggled and it bounced when he walked, when he laughed, and his shirts rode up easily. He hadn’t really had to buy new jeans – his old ones had been too big, anyway – but his shirts were nearly all a lost cause….

 

“So,” Amy asked, now, lying in her bed, nearly fifteen years after the fact, “what happened when you went to the academy?”

Jake shrugged. “I quit, pretty much cold turkey. And then I lost almost all the weight running around all the obstacle courses and stuff.”

“And those guys at the park today?”

Jake crumpled his mouth in shame. “They were all kinda the same guys I used to hang out and toss the sack with.”

Amy slid over to him again, slipped her hand beneath his shirt, and rubbed his belly pensively. Jake worried a little bit, wondering what was going through her mind, when Amy said, “To think, you had none of this, at one point.”

“Well, you’ve certainly helped with all that.”

Amy giggled, satisfied. “What helps you sleep now?”

“Well, that’s what I was going to tell you,” Jake said. “Now, it’s more like, you’re around most nights, and whenever you’re around, I already feel better, but you also –”

“Feed you a ton of food before we go to sleep almost four times a week?” Amy finished.

“Yes, that exactly.”

He could feel Amy smile against his chest. She sprung up, then, and pushed his shirt up over his belly. She settled herself between his legs, and left a trail of kisses over his belly, down the curve of it to his hips, where she slipped down the band of his underwear and bit the soft flesh there. Jake closed his eyes, breathed in each time her teeth closed down on another bit of his skin.

She worked her way back up to his belly, over his chest, up his neck, and found his mouth again. “I’m glad it seems to be working for you,” she said, and he smiled as she kissed him again, and again, and again, until they fell asleep, in each other’s arms.

 


End file.
